


Get It Up

by Anonymous



Series: Despite everything, Arthur fucks [18]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, Cheating, Gil is in a band, M/M, they're both punks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25700155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: One of Arthur’s ankles was crossed over his knee, fishnets criss-crossing over his pale, bruise-peppered legs. He’d kicked off his platforms and left them aside, more clutter in the small room. A cigarette dangled from his lips, black lipstick and eyeliner smudged all over his face. A flannel dangled off his skinny frame, barely covering the t-shirt to Gilbert’s band. Kind of tacky. Gil couldn’t tell if Arthur was wearing shorts under that shirt, but he wouldn’t doubt if he wasn’t wearing anything.
Relationships: England/Prussia (Hetalia), usuk is mentioned a few times
Series: Despite everything, Arthur fucks [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1279544
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32
Collections: Anonymous





	Get It Up

**Author's Note:**

> not the longest one in the world but i just wanted to write b/c i havent written anything short and fun in a while. enjoy!

Gilbert’s head was swimming from the alcohol in his system, making him sway back and forth as he made his way down the narrow hallway backstage. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his throat throbbing from his performance. Being in a band was all fun and games until he lost his voice from screaming into the mic. It didn’t help that he spent all night hydrating with some drink that had been burning his throat bad. It was a surprise Gilbert hadn’t dropped dead already, from dehydration or otherwise. The hallway widened enough for light to pour in, illuminating the decades-old stickers slapped on the dirty punk-show venue walls. He lifted a hand to press it against the layered plastic and paper, guiding himself along. Where his band-mates went he didn’t know, and didn't care. All he could think about was crashing in the dressing room for a few hours- curling up on the couch and sleeping off his intoxication.

When he opened the door and he was hit with a cloud of cigarette smoke, he knew that wasn’t how the night was going to go. The room was dark, with only the yellow, flickering ceiling bulb casting light. Which Gilbert was almost grateful for, he could only imagine how many scummy things were crawling around in this place that he couldn’t see. But what he could see wasn’t any better, that was for sure. A dingy mirror leaning against a graffiti-covered wall, peeling plastic stools tucked under the desk. And then there was Arthur, sat on the couch like he belonged there. Another scummy thing he was forced to see. 

One of Arthur’s ankles was crossed over his knee, fishnets criss-crossing over his pale, bruise-peppered legs. He’d kicked off his platforms and left them aside, more clutter in the small room. A cigarette dangled from his lips, black lipstick and eyeliner smudged all over his face. A flannel dangled off his skinny frame, barely covering the t-shirt to  _ Gilbert’s band.  _ Kind of tacky. Gil couldn’t tell if Arthur was wearing shorts under that shirt, but he wouldn’t doubt if he wasn’t wearing anything. 

“I told them not to let groupies back here,” Gilbert slurred, stumbling in his clunky boots to the desk and throwing his jacket over it. It made a soft noise when it landed, chains and spikes clinking together.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Arthur’s voice didn’t fit a place like this, not really. Despite the clothes he wore and the attitude he had, there was no escaping that proper accent. And it rolled over Gilbert like honey “Are you drunk?”

“Yeah I’m drunk. Are you?” Gilbert kicked his boots off next, letting them clunk against Arthur’s. He could hear people passing by the room, voices bouncing off the walls and the clumsy noise of instruments being roughly dragged onstage. 

“Of course I’m fucking drunk. It’s the only way to get through your sets.” Now that they were closer, Gil could smell the alcohol on his skin, the weed on his breath. Arthur shifted next to him, throwing a leg over his legs and settling on his lap. Arthur was  _ hot,  _ skin burning against his own where they touched. At some point, Arthur had gotten rid of the cigarette, but he hadn’t seen what he’d done with it.

“Why do you even come if you’re just gonna get drunk and sit back here?” Gilbert set his hands on Arthur’s hips, pulling him forwards so their hips bumped together through the fabric. And surprise surprise, Arthur was only wearing a thin thong that left nothing to the imagination. If he was sober, Gil would wonder where the man’s pants went. But he was drunk, and only cared about the outline of Arthur’s cock against the fabric. 

“You know why,” Arthur breathed and shoved himself forward, mashing their lips together clumsily. Both of their lips were chapped and Arthur tasted like nothing but sin and sweat and made him realize how dirty everything about this was. Arthur’s teeth closed around his lower lip, biting down hard and pulling back enough to pull a groan from Gilbert's throat. 

“Make it quick,” Arthur panted, reaching down to tug at Gilbert’s belt, fumbling between the studs and the leather. “Alfred wanted me home twenty minutes ago.”

“Twenty minutes ago? Pushing it with him.” Gil swatted Arthur’s ass quickly before helping Arthur pull his jeans down. He heard one of the patches on his jeans rip, but couldn’t find it in himself to care. He would care later, when he was hungover and missing a patch. But not now.

“Been blowing up my phone for a few minutes now,” Arthur grumbled, rolling his eyes. Alfred wasn’t someone they talked about often. It was clear Alfred wasn’t someone Arthur wanted to be talking about. 

“Why don’t you get on your knees and blow something else?” Gil mumbled, and he was barely able to catch Arthur’s pearly, drunk laugh. 

“You’re the worst,” Arthur said, but Gil could see the way he was grinning. He watched Arthur shift down to his knees between his legs, pulling Gilbert’s limp cock from his pants. That was clearly disappointing for the blonde, but it wasn’t like Gilbert could do anything about it. Arthur wrapped his lips around the head, black lipstick framing the pink of his cockhead. He silenced a moan, one hand threading into Arthur’s hair as the man began to bob his head, swallowing around his cock eagerly. Arthur gave head like nothing else, and the thought of him going home and pleasing his little American pet like this had a nasty ripple going up his spine. The hand in Arthur’s hair tightened, and the brit let out a noise Gil couldn’t pin as pleasure or annoyance. 

“Does he know you’re here?” Gilbert asked in a puff, and Arthur shook his head. When he came up, spit dribbled from his lips. 

“Thinks I’m at my brother’s,” Arthur mumbled before getting back to it, clearly bothered by being interrupted by such a question. 

“You’re fuckin’ dirty, lyin’ to him like that. I bet you even bought a spare change of clothes,” Gilbert huffed, feeling blood rush to his cock the more he thought about Alfred waiting at home like the good boyfriend he was, while Arthur was gagging on cock in the dressing room of this place.

Arthur just moaned, meeting Gilbert’s eyes with his own green ones. He knew Arthur didn’t feel any guilt about it too. Maybe he did the first time, when Gilbert fucked him in an alley behind a bar after Alfred didn’t put out. But any guilt he had was gone by now. Anything that remained would show after this, but right now, Arthur was more concerned with sliding his cock down his throat. Gilbert gave another hard tug to his hair, and Arthur moaned again, sending vibrations up his cock. 

As for Gilbert, he couldn’t care less what Arthur did. If he wasn’t spreading his legs for him, he would be spreading his legs for someone else. 

Gil gasped, his hips pitching up when Arthur’s tongue slid against the slit of his cock, and that’s when Arthur pulled himself up. 

“Condom?” Arthur asked, pushing Gilbert aside so he could lay across the couch, hooking one leg over the back of the couch. 

“You didn’t grab one?” Gilbert panted, repositioning himself over Arthur and reaching down. The fishnets blurred in his hands when he tried to pull them off. An agitated, unintelligent noise left him, and the fabric ripped in his fingers where he pulled, leaving behind a large hole in the stockings. Arthur made a displeased noise, but his only real protest was him shoving Gilbert’s shoulder.

“Ugh. I thought you were a rock star,” Arthur complained, fumbling in the flannel pocket in order to find a condom. “I can’t afford to waste these on you.” 

“What? He doesn’t wanna hit it raw?” Gilbert joked, and got another rough shove on his shoulder from the brit. The condom was dropped in his hand, along with a travel sized bottle of lube. 

“Will you stop talking about my boyfriend and fuck me already?” He snapped, and Gilbert laughed. He put the condom on and lubed his cock up, pushing Arthur’s legs open wider with his other hand. Even in the dim light, Gil could see the slick wetness of lube on the inside of Arthur’s thighs. So he’d been keeping himself busy in here. That made Gilbert throb. With the hand that wasn’t slick with lube, Gilbert moved the thin thong aside, and sure enough, Arthur’s hole winked at him invitingly. 

Sliding into Arthur was like coming home. He was warm and just tight enough that Gil let out a soft moan. Just then, whatever band that was scheduled to be playing started up, shaking the walls with the loud screaming of both the singer and the guitar. The noise of the couch banging against the wall was disguised by the slamming of drums and Arthur’s high moans were almost lost to the noise. 

This was when neither of them cared about the other- as if they actually cared about what each other did outside of sex. Gilbert and Arthur were both drunk and frankly, pretty selfish lovers.Each of them only cared if they got off, and it showed. But unfortunately, it seemed like they were the only people who could scratch some filthy itch. Sex with no strings, sex that was rough and uncaring and neither of them bothering with pleasantries. It was just sex. Arthur’s blunt nails dug into his shoulders, gripping him with intensity. Soft panting turned into Arthur’s back arching up, words and phrases Gilbert couldn’t catch spilling from his pink lips. 

Even in the dim light, he could see the way sweat gathered on Arthur’s face, the blonde’s face screwed up into a look between concentration and pleasure. Gil found himself watching his face as he fucked him, eyelids fluttering as Arthur’s own squeezed shut. He wondered if Arthur was thinking about someone else while being fucked like this. If Alfred bent him over and fucked him to tears or if it was nothing but missionary sex after dark. Clearly Gilbert had something that Alfred didn’t. 

When Arthur gasped and arched up again, his eyes stuttered open. They were clouded in pleasure, and Gil barely noticed he was staring until Arthur panted it out. 

“Got a starin’ problem?” He accused over the music, one of his hands moving from the couch to reach down and pull at his cock, shuddering with each thrust. Gilbert wasn’t sure what he said, but he knew that he leaned down and kissed Arthur hard, pulling in sharp breaths from his nose. 

Gilbert came first, groaning against lips that tasted like Jack Daniels. Arthur’s legs squeezed around his hips, pulling him deep and keeping him deep inside of him. Gilbert was happy to stay, Arthur’s walls tightening around him over and over as the other man worked himself into an orgasm. 

He came with a loud noise Gil knew he would deny was a squeak, and then flopped down on the couch heavily, his eyes closing again and legs falling open. Gilbert leaned back, pulling out and settling on the other side of the couch. He slowly caught his breath, head falling back as his sight went black at the corners. Arthur recovered before him, and he could hear him shuffling around his room. When he finally got the energy to lift his head, he watched as Arthur gathered his things and began to change. A soft button-up, pressed dress pants, of course. It made Gilbert chuckle. 

“What?” Arthur snipped, leaning close to the mirror and using the t-shirt he’d been wearing to wipe the makeup off his face. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Text me?” 

The fishnets flew across the room, hitting Gilbert in the face. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> can u tell i miss going to shows   
> thats right, the author of hetalia smut is a punk AND a stoner. two for one deal


End file.
